Airplanes and Pterodactyles – Pacific Geo Lab

Airplanes and Pterodactyles
The Good Old Days of Flying

Nonfiction – Part 1, circa 1977 / Part 2, 1993 / Part 3, circa 1992

Disorders

We are sometimes defined by our fears. If you let them, phobias can disable you like a deer in headlights. I know this. Intimately.

Most people who travel hop on an airplane at the drop of a hat and think nothing of it. Then there’s me. I tell people I’m not a fan of flying. And I’m not. But that’s only half of it. The complete story is it terrifies me. I’m one of those 2.5% of the population who experience severe anxiety whenever I board a plane. It’s called aerophobia. I battle the demons each and every time I fly. Yet, if you sat next to me during a flight you would not know the terror that stalks my sanity. I’ve learned how to deal with it.

It wasn’t always that way. There was a long time – many years, in fact – when phobias controlled my life. The problems originated when I was stuck alone in a stalled elevator in our apartment building. The world went dark and the fabric of my young mind unravelled between floors.

I was especially anxious about heights and elevators. When I was 13 our family went on a trip to see New York city. Naturally, the tour included a visit atop the Empire State Building. I was dead set against it. No way was I getting into that elevator! Ultimately, my family forceable carried me into it. I was so panic stricken I nearly passed out during the trip to the top.

Later, in high school, I refused to attend the Junior Prom because it was held on the top floor of a downtown hotel. Not only was I scared silly by the idea of being 200 feet above the street, but I could not imagine convincing any potential date that walking up 20 flights of stairs was a fun idea. (By contrast the Senior Prom was, thankfully, held in a ballroom on the third floor – only two flights up! – I had a blast.)

Finally, my first year of college, I addressed the situation. I was told by a therapist that my fear of flying is actually a combination of underlying “disorders”. (You’ve got to love some of modern medicine’s terminology. Take “disorder”, for example, as if the given problem could be solved by simply rearranging some components, like chairs at a birthday party. Then we could all get back to carrying on while remaining calm….). How to deal with these things was the question. I had a choice – live under them and manage the anxiety or take control and get on with living.

One of the disorders I was found to have is acrophobia – a fear of heights. Mine is more specialized, however. Little heights – like being up in a tree or on a ladder – don’t bother me. It’s more of the seriously puckering heights of high cliffs and stratospheric buildings that rattle my cage. So, you might ask, why on Earth did Kracken Kramer take up climbing – including some of the highest mountains and tallest frozen waterfalls on the continent? Why would I sign up to help my brother gild spires and domes while dangling from a rope over a thousand feet above the pavement?

Probably for the same reason I embraced the dark underworld of caving ( or spelunking, if you wish, a term I care not for). More “disorders” – claustrophobia (no explanation needed) with a little nyctophobia (fear of the dark) thrown in. Because of them, I’ve spent innumerable hours – days even – squeezing through tight, muddy passages in exploration of the subterranean world. There’ve been countless episodes of bone-twisting pain while squirming through wormholes in dark labyrinthian catacombs. And then there were times swimming blindly through cold, tight, water-filled cave passages with only a couple inches of airspace at the ceiling, not sure if even that modicum of oxygen would be available around the next bend in the darkness…

In the reverse engineering of psychotherapy, it was revealed I also have elevatophobia – an underlying fear of elevators. Yes, elevators – there is such a thing. It stems from those times in my childhood when I got hopelessly stuck in one – more than once! Thus, the shenanigans of my high school Proms.

Back to the question of climbing and caving: Why would anyone seek to do those things which are the very antithesis of their comfort? Even more so, why turn the amp up to 11 and go after the most extreme manifestations of that which causes so much paranoia and anxiety? Are there not enough safer, saner, easier ways to enjoy life under the spell of disorders?

Simply this: It’s to keep the wolf at the door. Oh, he’s there alright – all big, bad, and snarly – just waiting to break down the wall and wreak havoc on my life again. But now he’s kept outside where he belongs. I’ve chosen to confront my fears – to control them. Not the other way around.

There’s an added benefit to this approach. As any psychotherapist will tell you, there is a fine line between abject fear and exhilarating thrill. I chose to cross that line many years ago. And cross it I have, in a big way. Not surprisingly, the more I taunt the big, bad wolf, the more I enjoy life. I climb cliffs and mountains not just to control my fears, but to experience the fullest measure of life’s splendors. You earn a much greater reward when you stand atop a mountain that you’ve climbed every step to reach the summit of.

Which brings us back to the beginning: I’m still not a fan of flying. But fly I do. Even if I wish not to fly, I do it anyway to keep the aerophobia in check. And I do so making sure the fear doesn’t impair my ability to find humor in the experience. So, to that point, here are a few times when I succeeded in getting the better of my aerial disorder:

Part 1 – Indian Beggar Beads

In the 1970s our family owned and operated a struggling rock and gem business – Nature’s Exotics – just outside DC. Each summer our family road trips out west combined business and pleasure by trading with other shops for inventory to take back to our store in Kensington. On one of these trips we traded about 200 pounds of Appalachite and Unakite – gemstone material from the Appalachian Mountains – for 100 Indian beggar bead necklaces. The strands were about 20 inches long, had fairly large stones, and were thus pretty hefty as necklaces go. We’d had some of these in our store before and they sold quite well, so we couldn’t wait to get them back into stock.

On that trip I had to leave the family vacation early, flying from Duluth to Washington in order to set up our booth at the Montgomery County Fair. There was no time to send the newly-acquired inventory by mail so it was decided I should just stuff my suitcase and carry-on bag with the necklaces.

Upon check-in at the airport, however, the desk attendant informed me that my bag was 25 pounds overweight and they were going to charge extra for it. I was appalled and asked for an appeal of this verdict, considering the plane was not even full. But the manager came over and stated flatly the rule was maximum 45 pounds per bag. Anything more was considered “air freight” and would be charged accordingly. I indignantly pulled the suitcase off the scale and told them I’d fix the problem. I had no idea how.

There was no time to mail the excess – my flight would leave in 45 minutes. I lugged the suitcase over to the seating area and thought about what to do. Maybe I could ask another passenger or two to spot me some under-utilized weight? I’d offer a free necklace to any Good Samaritan that would help out. This was, after all, the good old days before TSA and Homeland Security when you could actually get by with such things. But, the clock was ticking and most of the passengers had already headed to the gate. I tried finding some late comers in the check-in line but had no luck. End of that idea.

I was really up against it with zero options when a thought came to mind. I asked a passing porter if anyone had a problem with patrons wearing jewelry on the plane. The gal politely said, “Oh no sir, we have no problem with customers wearing jewelry.” I went back to the suitcase, grabbed the necklaces and put about 25 over my head. It looked like a giant gemological donut was wrapped around my neck. I then secured several on each arm and a few around each leg. I closed the suitcase and jangled my way back to the scale. I got a few weird looks, along with a smirk from the gal who recognized me from the first time in line, but my bag was now easily within the weight limit. I boarded the plane.

Part 2 – Eleven Boxes

In the spring of 1993, my wife and I were on our way back from the Dominican Republic with a huge load of stone figures we bought from local villagers high in the mountains of Hispaniola (see my story “Amber Ratifications”). There were miniature carvings of elephants and rhinos, turtles, squirrels, and all sorts of birds. Nearly everything you could find in the way of animals was expertly carved in real stone by artisans we’d met two weeks prior. We were taking it all back to our Potomac Museum Group retail stores in the Twin Cities. They sold like hot cakes.

We made darned sure each box came in under the weight limit. By the time we got to the airport, we had eleven boxes of rocks, four suitcases, and several carry-ons. There were two different carts piled high with boxes and luggage, their wheels mashing into the concrete. It took a little negotiating but since the plane was only half full, the gal at the check-in let us load the extra baggage, though she was a bit confused as to why we were carrying eleven boxes of rocks.

More fun awaited us at US Customs in Miami.

The line was long and slow. They gave us Import Declaration cards and told us to fill them out while we shuffled forward. Everyone had stuff to declare – jewelry, trinkets, booze, art and artifacts. As the form had no particular line labeled “stone carvings”, we wrote in “Rocks – Geologic Specimens”. By the time we got to the agents there was little in the way of smiles from the staff.

Says here you are declaring eleven boxes of “geologic specimens”? the Custom official snorted.

Yes, Sir I’m a geologist and these are boxes of geologic specimens.

So what you’re telling me is every box is full of nothing but rocks? he asked in disbelief.

I assured him that was the case. He was not persuaded: OK, let’s take a look… he said, whereupon he summoned assistants and they tore into a box in the middle of the line. They pulled out wads of paper and unwrapped them. Several stone carvings appeared on the table.

These are not rocks! They’re figurines!, he declared, They’re sculptures, art pieces – anything BUT rocks!.

I argued the point – Actually, Sir, they ARE rocks. They are made from 100% rock. There was no line on the form for “rocks”, or figurines made from them, so we went with what they are called in the formal sense – geologic specimens.

The agent was having none of it.

What do you mean “formal sense”? Listen, Pal, don’t try this BS on me! Just because a painting might be made of canvas does not mean it is going to pass through my station as a piece of fabric! he hollered. A Van Gogh is not a piece of cloth – it’s a piece of art! So stop trying to game me here.

He had a point, although I could hardly abide the comparison. I grumbled a little.

Look, I could impound this stuff right here, right now! Then you’d have you come back Monday to sort it out with my boss. But lucky for you, we’re more interested in finding drugs and contraband. As far as I know, these “rocks” of yours don’t qualify as such. So, I’ll make you a deal – if you’ll turn off your motor mouth, we’ll look in a few more boxes and then you can be on your way.

I shut up.

Part 3 – Dinosaurian Carry-ons

The Tucson Gem and Mineral Show descends like an avalanche on Tucson, Arizona every February, smothering the town with rocks, gems, jewelry, carvings, fossils, minerals, bones, trinkets, idols, art, and junk from across the globe. It’s the largest gem, rock and fossil event on Earth and consumes every aspect of the city for two weeks each year. It’s a nonstop rock-and-roll party – the restaurants and bars stay open late and most hotels are booked years in advance at exorbitant, scalper prices. A recent study found that the Tucson economy pulls in over $216 million dollars as a direct result of the show. And that does not count the value of the business being conducted between the buyers and sellers in the show itself where several billion dollars in deals are consummated during those two weeks. That’s a lot of rocks.

And I know it… believe me! Even before I moved Potomac Museum Group to Minnesota in the mid 1980s, most of our annual income was derived from this singular event. We spent months preparing for it, weeks recovering from it, and between the two we were lost in a frenzy of networking, deal making, and travels through deep time.

For many years PMG held court in Room #149 of the Sheraton Pueblo Inn along Interstate 10. Like all other hotels in town, this place was totally transformed into a wholesale hub for dealers and buyers of all kinds. We’d move out the furniture and move in our displays and inventory. If you didn’t know better, you’d not guess it was a hotel.

In our heyday – mid 70’s until the mid 90’s – the Pueblo was the epicenter of the world’s finest fossils. Never mind the rarity, if it was a fossil and for sale, chances are you’d find it at the Pueblo in February. We specialized mostly in unusual fossils from the Mid Atlantic and Upper Midwest. You could not find the items we carried anywhere else.

In those years PMG was a rather small operation, set amongst dinosaur skeletons and giant slabs of petrified wood. While other dealers were selling $50,000 giant fossil fish from Kansas, or a $150,000 cave bear from Romania, we were offering fossil fern chips and turritella snail fossils at twenty-five cents each in bulk. When you sell items that cheap you better have a lot of them! And we did. On average, we shipped 6 tons of fossils to Tucson every year and hustled to sell everything we brought. Whatever we had left over after two weeks was traded away for exotic fossils from other lands that we brought back to our stores in Minneapolis.

It’s not all fossils. There’s a huge secondary market of apparel, books, educational products, and just about anything that can hold an imprint of a dinosaur. Artists, too, get into the trade. You’ll find sculptures, paintings and life-size animatronic dinosaurs. Looking for a cute 30-foot-long talking duckbill dinosaur for your flower bed? How about a swooping, squawking, pterodactyl with 12-foot wingspan? No problem, you can have them delivered after the show.

Some of the art is produced right before your eyes. There are glass blowers and chainsaw artists scattered around town. But for my money some of the best art produced on sight is the welded steel sculptures of Larry Williams.

Larry is a master welder and recovering drug addict. His poison of choice was heroin – long before it was fashionable, and way before it was affordable. He destroyed his life – and those around him – for over a decade. But fossils and welding brought him back. He now sells his incredible art pieces the world over and works overtime on commissions that have him booked for years in advance. When he comes to Tucson – which is not every year – he sets up in the courtyard outside and hangs a sign on his acetylene tank: “Larry’s BBQ – Everything Well Done”.

Hal and I got to know Larry quite well. We were fast friends. During our retail years, we brought Larry up to the Great White North and featured him welding at our stores around Minneapolis. Whenever we saw Larry at the Tucson show we would pick up more dinosaur sculptures before we headed north.

During one especially hectic year in our business, I had an important meeting scheduled in Minneapolis and had to fly back during the course of the show. At the time we had a client who was chomping at the bit to get some of Larry’s sculptures. He especially wanted a Pterodactyl with a five-foot wingspan to hang in his living room. In addition to that, he commissioned Larry to do a sculpted T-rex head about 14” long. I decided to take both of the sculptures back with me on the plane. It became more of an ordeal than I had bargained for.

I had an idea on how to handle the Pterodactyl. My plan was to shove it into a bicycle box and tell the airlines it was a very specialized bike. The skull was more fragile, though, and I decided to put it in my carry-on pack.

When I got to the airport, however, the bike box would not fit the flying reptile. The boxes were made for bikes that were in pieces, not fully assembled, and were thus more compact than I had figured. I was caught frantically trying to cram the steel reptile into the cardboard, but it simply would not go.

I don’t know if you’ve ever tried cajoling – or forcing – a metallic art piece into a package for which it was not designed, but I can assure you that welded steel does not abide the whims of humans! That steel, being the ignorant and belligerent metal that it was, simply refused to fit into the box! I finally was forced to cobble two bike boxes together with a lot of tape. When I brought the enormous monolith up to the counter, I got some seriously untenable looks.

What have we here? inquired the gal at the counter.

Just my bike, I replied nonchalantly. It’s custom, very specialized…

The attendant stated the package was way oversized – against the rules. She insisted I break down the bicycle so it would fit in one box or, if necessary, into two separate boxes. I made up a story on the fly: Oh, I can’t do that. It’s a very expensive, custom Olympic racer. That would void the warranty…

That perked up the ears of a nearby fellow operating the next ticket station. I’ll handle this, he told her as he slid in and took over from the gal. He obviously had some seniority. Once upon a time I was an alternate for the US Olympic team… he announced proudly.

Oh, great, I thought – now I have to bluff my way past an actual biking professional. I’ve really stepped into the pile this time! Things were not looking good for the home boy. Still, I had nothing to lose so I doubled down and went with the ultimate BS strategy:

No kidding! I gushed. A real contender?

Well, I never actually got to ride for team… Politics, ya know… he said, a little dejectedly. Anyway, what kind of bike is it? he asked. In the quick of the moment, I blurted out, It’s a Pterodactyl.

To my utter amazement he replied, Right on! They’re out of Italy aren’t they? It was more a statement than a question. Those Italians make the best bikes…he said. Was this for real? Just my luck there’d be a brand of bikes called Pterodactyl! Here I had made the whole thing up and accidentally hit a hole in one – or had I?

I’ve always wondered about their bikes…he offered, I’ll help you break it down. I know some of these rigs are hard to figure out, but I’ve worked plenty of them… He was about to rip open the box – I had to think fast.

In a conspiratorial tone I leaned over and said, Listen, Bro, I’m gonna level with you – it’s my boss’ bike. He’s the Olympian, not me. He’s riding this thing in a triathlon this weekend and he’s paying me to get it to him tonight. While I was taking it apart, I stripped a bolt and it won’t come loose, thus the fully assembled bike inside. So, I’m in a pickle here cuz if I show up without this bike ready to ride, my ass is grass. How about I give you a $20 for your help and you just get it into the hold?

I feel for ya man, he said helpfully. Can do…but without the tip. It’s against the rules. He hoisted the box and took it into the back.

With that landmark episode behind me, I headed down the ramp to the security screening. I carefully put my bag on the conveyor and went through the metal detector, watching the guard operating the Xray on the line. She was so bored I thought she would fall asleep and roll off her chair at any minute. She looked positively catatonic: Push button, stop, scan… Push button, stop, scan….Push button…. on and on and on. God only knows how she kept awake at that job, moving only her index finger while her mind wandered somewhere else entirely.

I was through the line and had meandered around the behind the guards so I could see the images as they appeared on the screen. I knew the skull would light up the display. The scenes scrolling by were mostly the same boring things: shades of grey outlining books or bottles, dark lines along the soles of shoes, rectangles indicating the border of a suitcase… It was repetitious and monotonous work.

That is, until my pack came along. Bam! – the sharp black silhouette – a clear side view of a big menacing skull with pointy teeth filled the screen. It was awesome – could not have been more perfect.

To her credit, the operator suddenly snapped to attention, stopped the conveyor belt, and grabbed a nearby companion: You see that? What in God’s name….? The other guard looked at it spell-bound, mouth agape. They got a third guard to come over. Good God almighty! I ain’t never seen nothin like that! he declared, We gotta talk to this person!

They pulled my pack aside and called out for the owner. I came over. Six cops gathered around. They told me to grab the pack and ushered me over to an empty, sterile room with a table in the middle. The tone was ominous.

What’s in the bag? The head guy demanded.

It’s a sculpture of a dinosaur skull. It’s fragile so I have to carry it, I explained.

Open the bag, he ordered. Do it very slowly! I complied. Larry’s sculpture was wrapped in bubble wrap.

Unwrap it! I did and laid it on the table. The cops gathered around, first checking the bag thoroughly and then staring at the art piece, tentatively touching it.

What the hell is that? They said, almost in unison. I told them it was an original Larry Williams sculpture. They examined it closely and did some chemical swabs. As they realized it was a harmless piece of metal, they relaxed.

Looks real! one of them ventured. That thing is bad-assed, another said. Where’d you get it? I want one! I told them where to find Larry at the show. They even wrote it down.

Back to the business at hand, there was some debate about the legality of taking it on the plane. The Sargent of the group announced there were no rules that forbade carrying a dinosaur onto an airplane. Human bones, that’d be a problem – they have to be declared and go through procedure. But as far as I know, dinosaurs are OK.

I boarded the plane, T-rex skull in hand, Pterodactyl in the hold.